Backwards on Impact
by Accidental-Acid-Burns
Summary: Brain damaged!Anderson. Anderson tugged on Greg's pants leg, holding up the childishly coloured dinosaur, looking at him, waiting for his aproval. Greg ruffled his hair, careful of the scars, from when they'd had to reconstruct his shattered skull, and he found it in him to smile and take the picture. "Getting better, Gillian." He lied.
1. Chapter 1

"_Gillian Anderson is one of the smartest,_

Anderson sat as his desk, hardly able to keep his twitchy fingers still quite long enough to fill in his paper work, not when he had a code to solve. His code that he had been working out since day one, trying to solve this puzzle, then he would rest. The sets of Gaelic symbols and numbers in sets of four that meant this and that it was all very confusing. And all so ingenious. So much code and so many little letters and symbols. And they needed it, the villains, they needed it. But they didn't understand it, not the way he did.

_Most foolhardy_

And now he needed to destroy it, his code, his baby, his work for so long. He'd memorised it, all of it, they couldn't hurt him if he needed the code. He was the last remaining copy of it. His /was/ the last remaining copy, and now he had to break the rest. He held the titanium bat between his fingers, before he smashed his laptop, his precious, his everything. He shattered it, breaking it apart, until it was little more than a pile of splinters and spare parts on the floor. Good thing it was after hours, I suppose. He burnt his paper copies, and scrubbed his arms raw; to make sure every trace was gone.

_Bravest_

Anderson arrived at the building, his hands twitching in anticipation. He walked calmly though the halls, his chin high, his lips pursued. He knew they would not dare hurt him, they already knew he was the final copy of the code they so desperately needed, and as he walked toward they, toward his fate, and they would /make/ him cooperate. They had his best friend, Sally Donovan, and they would make him give them the code. As he walked, Anderson sent of a message to Lestrade, informing him of his choice to come and get Sally, by trading himself.

_Most trustworthy_

Sally knew he was coming. He would always save her. She watched as they door was thrown open. She looked up from the floor, at the pair of black dress shoes, scuffed. His pants cut to uniform length, his hands folded across his chest, facing her with a calm air. He was here. She threw herself around his ankles, trying to gain some kind of reaction from him. She received none. Just a cold stare of someone too far gone, all hope lost. His cold exterior cracked, and he pulled her up into a hug, his warm arms wrapped around her cold body. She held him tightly, while he shushed her, resting his face in her soft hair. That was when he told her good-bye, sat her back on the ground, brushed her hair out of her face, and stood tall, stood strong, and walked out.

_Most unselfish_

Anderson stood at the foot of the stairs, taking a deep breath. He'd gotten away, as best he could. He was safe, to a degree, but not for long. He was going to cooperate, they had decided, and kidnaped his best friend, Sally, to /make/ him cooperate with them. He did not want to. He was putting so, so many people in danger, even just standing here. He needed to die, to destroy the final copy of the code. And there are only so many ways to kill yourself, and the only one he had access to be the stairs. He couldn't help the small sob that escaped his lips. He texted Greg, the only person he felt compelled to say good bye to.

'Sorry. It's a thing that has to be done. –A'

He knew that Greg would track it, find him. Save Sally. Good. He faced the stairwell. He didn't want to die. He knew it was something he had to do. Destroy the remaining copy, save them. A second sob reverberated around the little enclave, it was all drawing to a close. He took a deep breath, squared his back, and raised his chin. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. With one last hand through his hair, he stood, arms by his sides, open handed.

He fell forward.

He crunched into the stairs, ribs first, shattering then, next his shoulder, dislocated, out of place, then, his head smashed into the stairs, splattering blood on his face, and the stairs, marking point of impact.

Greg had no idea what Anderson was on about. As the police car pulled up, he jumped from the vehicle before Dimmock could pull to a halt. As Dimmock stopped, he was already running inside the building, following the paramedics, and not stopping to talk to Sally as he passed her. He found himself screaming Anderson's name, trying to locate the scientist. To no avail. He sprinted all around, covering each room with a short look, still shouting his name.

He sprinted around until he lost his breath and had to walk. He continued to shout for his missing friend, and he saw the stairs. His eyes widened, dreading what he might see at the end of the stair well. And he was not disappointed. Anderson was lying still at the foot of the stirs, his limbs sprawled at awkward directions, his face down in a slowly growing pool of blood. His own blood. His skull was obviously fractured, his arm twisted in a way that arms were not meant ot be twisted. He jogged down the stairs, pulling Anderson up into his arms, being so careful that he didn't make anything worse.

"Co'om Anderson stay with me. " He whispered, placing his ear on Anderson's chest, trying to detect his faint heart beat. A wave of relief swept over him as he pulled Anderson close to him, trying to stop the bleeding. He cradled Anderson carefully, screaming for the medics, but refusing to ive up his grip on Anderson's hand.

_Man I've ever known. That's why I'm never giving up on him."_

Greg wondered if he didn't like it better when Gillian had his eyes shut. Gillian. That's what he called him now. Gillian. Gillian's brown eyes were indeed open, but, Greg liked it better when they were shut. Did that make him a bad person? Maybe. He'd stopped caring sometime after Sally gave up. She's given up on him. And so had Dimmock. And so had his sister. Even John had started to tell him it was a waste of his time. He knew it wasn't. Gillian would wake up soon. He always bounced back. Acid burns on his hands? Done. Hand in a blender? Yep. Shot? Sure. Why not. Anderson had /always/ bounced back. And there was no reason he wouldn't now. He looked at his what? His friend? His co worker? He decided on friend.

He did indeed like it better when Gillian's eyes were shut. When they were silent. Now, they were open. But they were vacant, like he wasn't really there. Sometimes, he would tilt his head toward you, his un seeing, unblinking, vacant eyes staring at you. Greg had spent countless hours smoothing his hair out of his face, and trying to get a response of some kind. He never did. Just a silence, and the occasional head tilt. Even now, as he faced him, telling him about what he was missing, while Gillian stared at him, he wished they'd shut. He stroked his fingers over his jaw, taking in his battered face. The bruises for falling were clear, but the thick bandages wrapped around his skull were a give away of why he was here.

They'd told him whatever had been done to his head would be permanent. They wouldn't know exactly Untill he woke up, but as he looked at the man before him, he knew it was a long way off. He touched the side of his face, bushing his hair re grown hair away from his face, running his finger over the slightly too wide jaw, and the a little bit big nose that made up Gillian's face, siging to him. "You stupid, stupid man." He told Gillian with a sigh. "Why couldn't you just have waited. I would have been there, in less than ten minutes." He sighed. "I feed Frank for you." He said next, referring to Anderson's gecko. "Little bugger." He said fondly. The stupid thing was growing on him. "I'll keeo them in my office, next!" He joked. He looked sadly down at Gillian. He was told to go, vistitng hours were over. He pressed a kiss to Gillian's hollow cheek, before he paused. "Almost forgot." He placed a large purple dinosaur on the bed next to him, and took his leave.

It was about a month later when Greg was called to come to the hospital. He'd been at work, and had to get Dimmock to cover foe him, as he /ran/ to the hospital, coming to see Anderson. As he rushed in, he saw Gillian surrounded by doctors, looking distressed. Greg butted his way in, rudely, and took Anderson's hand.

"Hey, Buddy." He said quietly, knowing Anderson wouldn't be able to speak to him. "It's me, Greg. I'll be taking care of you, okay?" he said, stroking some of Anderson's hair from his face. Anderson nodded his head slightly.

A/N: Introduction is D-O-N-E. Next chapter will be the prompt, but as for now, enjoy the prelude. Nearly 1,600 words, right here. Proud of myself. Everyone enjoy, kay?

Batty (if on tumblr0

Fenix (Of on .)


	2. Chapter 2 (Greg thinking )

Anderson lay on his stomach on the floor of Lestrade's office, content to colour in his dinosaur colouring book. He was wearing something old Anderson would never have worn, still long black pants, but a plain green shirt with a dinosaur on the front was instead of his dress shirt tie and jacket. He still had a coat, it was over with his little bag that held the things he'd brought to entertain himself. His simple math book, some colouring books, some simple reading books, with dinosaurs in them, obviously, and some small plastic dinosaurs. He wasn't meant to come to work with Lestrade, but, he'd chucked a fit when Lestrade was about to go. And Lestrade caved.

He's done it to himself, really. He'd thrown himself down a flight of stairs, to save Sally. He'd memorized a code that 'they' wanted. He'd done it to himself. Mentally, he was a child. . And there was nothing anyone could do to fix it. He was attached to Lestrade. The only one who still believed he'd even wake up. Even Sally had given up. He loved Lestrade. Really and truly. He sat on the floor, preferring it to the couch, drawing happily. Everyone else at the yard frightened him. He didn't like most of them; he hated loud noises and people. He did, however like dinosaurs. He loved them, and a lot of the childish things that Lestrade had gotten for him were dinosaur themed. He finished his picture, a tyrannosaurs rex. He reached over, tugging on Lestrade's pants leg, holding it up, waiting for his approval.'

Greg was a tired man. Not because of Anderson, but everything, life in general. He was decaying, really. Not that Anderson would ever notice. In his mind, he would be invincible, and never hurt. In Anderson's mind, he was perfect. So here he was, looking after the only person who seemed to care anymore. Anderson himself was alright, the bandages were still there, and he'd picked up a new habit of pulling on them if he was distressed or if he had a headache, but other than that, Anderson was okay. And to some degree, so was he. Even if he couldn't sleep, because he had so much rolling around in his head. Because It meant he felt like there was no one to help him, because in all reality, he was just an old man taking care of a young man. He was decaying. And Anderson was going backward. This was amusing see that Anderson wasn't even ten years younger than he was. It wasn't as if Anderson meant to be a handful, he just got fussy sometimes. Very fussy. He sighed and looked down as Anderson tugged on Greg's pants leg, holding up the childishly coloured dinosaur, looking at him, waiting for his approval. Greg ruffled his hair, careful of the scars, from when they'd had to reconstruct his shattered skull, and he found it in him to smile and take the picture. "Getting better, Gillian." He lied to him. It wasn't much better than the last dinosaur he'd drawn. If fact, it might been be a little worse. Anderson giggled at him, before he pointed at the paper.

"Look at his arms, Greg! They're soooooo tiny! He can't do anything with silly little arms like that." He said, pulling his arms back to his ribcage and holding up his hands. "Rwar!" He told Greg. "Rwar, I'm a dinosaur, Rwar!" Greg smiled at him, before turning back to his work. Anderson crawled over and picked up his little plastic dinosaurs, setting them up army formation, before he repeated it for his crayons. He was making a war. His own war, led by general Sally-saurus rex, with her second in command Tri-Dimmock-tops.

"You be careful over there with your crayons." Greg warned. But he knew he would buy Gillian more, if broke them.

Anderson was already lost in his mini war. General Sally was leading, and the dinosaurs were winning! He played happily, while Greg worked, Anderson's little war continued, dinosaurs and crayon's dying everywhere. He made the appropriate sound effects that followed along throughout his battle, exploding a yellow crayon. He played happily for a while, before he burst into tears, startling Greg badly. Looking over, Greg couldn't see anything wrong. Anderson seemed okay, it wasn't time for pills, he hadn't accidently injured himself, and yet here he was sobbing on the carpet. Getting to his feet quickly, Greg hurried over and wrapped Anderson up in his arms. "Gillian, buddy, what's going on?" Anderson sniffed and pointed at the tipped over T-Rex. He rubbed at his eyes, and he sniffed.

"I killed her!" He cried. "I killed her!"

Greg looked down at the little bit of plastic, and uprighted it. "No you didn't, Gillian, kiddo, see, look?" Anderson looked over, and he saw it was upright. He broke Greg's hug, and grabbed his toy, looking at Greg with a smile. "She's alive!" He exclaimed, smiling at him. He looked thoughtful for a minute, before saying to Greg, "Maybe Sally Shouldn't fight in the war anymore…" Greg got back to his feet and sighed, smoothing Anderson's hair slightly.

"Maybe there shouldn't be war at all." Anderson looked up at him.

"Yeah. The dinosaurs won, anyway." He smiled, and gathered up his crayons, putting them back in the box. "Who needs war, anyway?" He commented, packing up his dinosaurs, putting them in his yellow bag. Greg smiled, and went back to his desk, while Anderson went about getting back out his colouring book.

Greg went back to work, and got some paperwork done, before looking over to see what Anderson was doing. He was still colouring, but he looked deep in thought. Very 'old' Anderson, and it made him sad. He got to his feet, and walking forward, he took a seat on the floor next to Anderson. "How's the colouring going buddy?" Greg asked, smiling as Anderson looks over at him.

"Look Greg, it's a T-Rex!" He said, holding up a second T-rex. Greg smiled at his damaged friend.

"Yeah, it is." Anderson giggled, and he went back to colouring in. Greg can't help but think about the man Anderson used to be, the brilliant man he used to be. And it makes him sad, because Anderson won't ever be that brilliant man again, he'd still be brilliant , but not the way he used to be.

Anderson got to his feet, and walked over to Greg, and gave him a hug. "Love you, Greg." He said with a little smile. Greg hugged him back, knowing it was time for Anderson to take his pain killers.

"Love you too, buddy. Take your meds, and we'll head home, yeah?"

A/N: Yep. Chapter two. *Is proud* Anyway, what do you guys want me to do with this? Seriously, I have no idea.


	3. Chapter 3 (Anderson thinking)

One of the first few things that Greg made Anderson learn, other than shaving and eating , was talking pills. Anderson didn't like the tase of them and he didn't like giving them to him but if Anderson didn't want pain and even if Anderson /did/ for some for some reason want pain, then he had to take his pills, and well, it just wasn't fair. But he did. He always did. Anderson took his pills without hesitation. The small white plastic capsules downed with water, and his head stopped aching, and the world seemed a tad less blury. A tad. Greg wasn't a jumble of colours, and his dinosaurs were defind everything was just a little better when he wasn't hurting. It was time to go home anyway. Greg said so.

And home the went. Kind of. They got stuck in traffic on the way back, so naturally, Anderson was bored out of his mind. ( Or what was left of it ) And Greg was busy being distracted by traffic to pay any attention to him, so he took the large purple dinosaur 'Tank' he's called it, Greg had gotten it for him. At the hospital, and he had a matching frog as well, ' Hank' who Greg had gotten for him after the most recent operation, when he'd had to be asleep for, and he'd woken up with a sick feeling in his stomach. That sick feeling was around a lot of the time when he was awake and he hadn't had pills. Or sometimes when he saw symbols and numbers that looked like something he was meant to recall, but he couldn't anymore. Like the lady he'd had to call Mrs Anderson when she came to visit. His name was also Anderson. She was nice. He'd liked her. It was a real shame he never saw here anymore. Greg said that she as in a better place now. Anderson hoped that was France, Because Mrs. Anderson seemed like the type of lady who would have wanted to go to France. He didn't want to go to France. Mostly because he didn't speak French, and he was confused enough with the language he was meant to speak he didn't want to learn another one. In all honesty, speaking in itself was pretty hard, and he sometimes had to think for a real long time before he could remember the write words to go in a specific order. Like how Greg had to come before Lestrade, and how Iain came before Dimmock, and egg came before Dinsoaur and so forth and so fourth and so fourth. Anderson spent the rest of the trip wondering if France had different tasting chicken dinos to where they lived and that maybe he would like to go to France and try them. He would just learn the words for 'Can I please try your chicken dinos?' And that would do, because after all, after he had dinos, he and Greg would just get back in the car and drive home.

They arrived home an hour later.

Anderson was proud of himself. Greg didn't even have to warn him once to behave himself. Maybe if he was really god and didn't kick up a fuss about having a bath than maybe Greg would give him an extra scoop of ice cream, or two little bread rolls with pink icing on them. He liked those more than almost everything, because he liked Greg more than he liked ice cream and little pink bread rolls. He liked Greg more than dinosaurs. And he really loved dinosaurs. Once they were in the flat, and Greg had to hold Anderson's hand as they went up thestairs. Anderson didn't like the stairs. Neither did Greg. But Greg couldn't afford anywhere without stairs, so stairs it was, Anderson knew what that meant. It meant Greg didn't have enough money. He wasn't sure why that thought made him sad. Maybe if Greg had a hundred dollars than he would buy a flat with no stairs. That would make him happy. After all, a hundred dollars was a lot of money.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Anderson heard that on a V show he snuck out of bed late one night to watch. He wasn't meant to be awake that late, because Greg said it made him grumpy the next day. But sometimes, if he didn't want to have nightmares, or wake Greg up, he would go to the living room and watch shows he wasn't meant to. Anderson liked the shows he wasn't allowed to watch. They were full of people, and he used them to show him how people were meant to act, and he tried to act like that when he and Greg went out, and people wanted to talk to Greg about his little brother, or when people stared and he felt sad because they were looking and that was really mean. He knew he would be in so much trouble f Greg found out so he kept it a secret, and he only told Hank. Hank was he best friend. No one was ever taking him away. He had to stop thinking now, because Greg had brought him chicken dinos for dinner .

A/N Very, very sorry for the late update, but thank you too the wonderful people who took time out of their lives to review, it really made me smile, no one worry, I'm never going to abandon this story, it's the only one I have to be proud of. I do have an excuse, however. My computer wouldn't let me login .But it did now so hi everyone!

I am very aware of the many many many errors in this chapter, I will fix them when I get back on my real computer. Thank you for your patience.

Fenix/Batty out.


	4. The Generic Nightmare Chapter

Naturally, Anderson's favorite food was chicken nuggets, the ones that came in the shape of dinosaurs. He liked these ones best. He would have them for every meal if he could. As far as Greg was concerned, however, Anderson /could/ eat them for almost every meal, if it made him happy. So, naturally, tonight was chicken dinos. But Greg spiced it up by serving them with soup rather than chips. He did need some diversity in his diet, after all. So chicken soup it was. Chicken soup with chicken dinos. And it was from a can. Alright, he has to admit there was a /little/ variation. Not a lot but enough. They sat at the table, across from each other, Hank sitting on the seat to Anderson's left, with a plate of fake food made of playdoh that was wonky and funny looking but it was recognizable as a piece or water melon and some little red circles meant to be strawberries, and Greg had a sinking feeling that those were the only fruits that Anderson could recall. He made a mental note to ask him about it later when he wasn't in the middle of eating, and assisting a stuffed frog in the same attempt. Greg smiled at him, and he smiled, back, mouth full of chicken at him. "Messy." Greg smiled, he smiled around Anderson because he needed it. Or else he would ask why he was sad and he wasn't sure how to explain to him 'You hit your head and now you might as well be my son.' In a term he would comprehend. It was just far beyond his mental captivity. It made him want to cry sometimes. But he needed to be strong for Anderson. Anderson needed that from him.  
Anderson liked dinner times because Greg normally let him have whatever he wanted. Unless Mrs. Anderson came over. Then they would have take away Chinese. She would have a bit of everything with Greg and he would have fried rice. He loved fried rice, picking the little bits out and tasting the chicken and then the meat and he really liked that. But Mrs. Anderson was in a better place, that what he was told every time he asked. And he still thinks that's France. He wonders is maybe France has different fried rice as well. He would add that to his list of words to learn in French.  
'Can I taste your chicken dinos  
Fried rice'  
Yes, he decided, while he helped Hank eat his watermelon, his list was coming along quite well. He was looking forward to desert tonight. He'd seen Greg buy ice cream and flavoring at the supermarket, and he wondered if maybe they were going to have ice-cream Sundays. He liked those. He had one of those when he stayed the night at Mrs. Anderson's and had a nightmare and had to come home. He hadn't seen her since. He smiled at Greg and hummed happily, Greg smiled back.  
Once they were done, he helped Greg take the plates to the sink, and rinsed them off so they could go in the dishwasher, and once they were in, Greg turned to him, and said the magic words. "What would you like for dessert?" Anderson grinned widely at the choices, a little bun with pink icing that got in his hair and on his hands and his shirt, or ice cream, that got on his face and his shirt, he frowned and Greg could already tell what he was about to answer. He always had one of two things, and he could tell that Anderson had made up his mind. He was going to have ice cream. He always had ice cream on Thursday's. t was like it was drilled into his mind that Thursday was ice cream night and that was that.

Anderson chose Ice cream, like was predicted by Greg, and he sat at the table with the little bottle of chocolate syrup that he poured onto his food with gusto. He ate quickly and happily, enjoying every mouthful of his sweet while Greg ate his own slowly. It was moments like this that made him see Anderson so young, so not Anderson, the man that he knew and was so fond of. It made it different, and painful. It was like he wasn't Anderson anymore. He was someone else entirely. And he knew that was true. He wasn't Anderson at all. He was someone else, and there was nothing he could do to bring his Anderson back, other than look after him and give him food, and help him sleep at night and it made him sad again. He was grateful that Anderson was to absorbed by his ice cream to notice.  
Once he was done with his ice cream, he put the bowl in the sink, and Anderson went to the bathroom for a bath. Greg turned on the taps and let the water run while Anderson gathered up his bath toys, setting them up neatly. 'Froogie, kitty, sandwhich guy, witchy poo, and fishies. He couldn't bring Tank or Hank into the bath because they would have gotten ruined. He didn't like that. He wanted them to stay nice. He liked the soft and squishy, not wet and icky. Once Greg decided the bath was done, he left Anderson to his own devices. Anderson stripped down. He looked himself over. The scrape on each knee cap, from when he fell down the garden path, and the sgars on his hands from years of work with chemicals, and the one on his head, where he had to pull his hair away from his head to see it, it was on the left side, hidden almost all the way by his messy hair, and once he found it, he traced it softly with his finger in the way that didn't hurt. It was a very sensitive piece of his skin, and if he touched it wrong, than it stung. He didn't like that at all. He didn't like hurting. He always hurt when they went to hospital. Going there meat he was going to have people touch him and poke him and look at him funny and ask questions he didn't know the answer to and he hated it. He just liked being with Greg and no one else. Not Mrs Anderson , not Dimmock, not anyone. Just Greg. Only Greg. He nodded at his scar, trying to clear the last of his hair out of the way before he climbed into the bathtub, sinking into the warm water and grabbing a bottle of shampoo.  
While Anderson was in the Bath, Greg went to make preparations for bed. He made sure all of Andersons toys were on his bed, his dinosaur pajamas were there and that he had set up the sheets just the way Anderson likes them. All was ready. With this job done he went back to the living room, and settled to watch some tv show about something he didn't really care about.  
Anderson bathed quickly, well, quickly for him, and then went to his room, happy to find that the fairies had made up his bed room for him. He asked Greg who always did that for him and he'd said the fairies and after all, Greg had no reason to lie to him. With his clothing on, he went back to the main room, and sat next to Greg, resting his face on Greg's thigh and watching the show he didn't understand.  
Anderson fell asleep.

He was walking down a pathway, he was worried and and panting. Everything was confusing him. Everything was rushing past him and there was some stairs. He couldn't control his legs as he left the ground, falling, falling falling and hitting. He smashed into the ground, but he kept falling, falling, falling, through the stairs, downwards, downwards, andhe hit another stairs and he landed, he got up and he ran, it was still following him, it was coming it was going to get him the monster with pale skin and a long black robe that was following him, shouting in a deep barrow tone, his electric blue eyes empty as he followed Anderson. And once again he was falling.

Anderson woke up crying. He got up, and went into Greg's room, holding Hank tightly. He didn't want to be alone tonight He wanted Greg to make him safe and chase the monster away. The dark being seemed to be every shadow and he swore he saw those eyes on the door of his room, encouraging him to scamper faster into Greg's room and throw himself into his bed, giving Greg the shock of his life as Anderson wormed his way into his arms Anderson had his eyes squeezed shut and clutched onto Greg for dear life, his fingers curled tightly around his arm, his face pressed up as close as he could go. "No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No." He whispered, smushing his face into Greg's chest, his eyes spilling over with tears. Greg held him close to his chest, humming soft reassures to him until he was calm enough to fall back asleep. Greg ran his fingers through Anderson's hair, resting his chin on the top of his head. He felt terrible. But what could he do? He didn't sleep much for the rest of the night, he spent it watching his sleep, not dreaming, not really thinking, just sleeping. He watched Anderson, because he didn't know what to do, so many things rolling around in his head.  
A/N  
Bing bong. A new chapter. I just really want to thank everyone who reviewed. It means everything to me. :D Seriously, the fact that you would type a little message just for me is really great thank you. It encourages me to write, it really does, knowing that people are looking forward to me writing. Have a good day, everyone.


	5. Sally and Surgery

Anderson really hates going to the doctors. Greg always says that it won't hurt when they go to the doctors, but it always does. It always hurts horribly and he wants it to stop. But he also wants Greg to like him, so he trails along behind into the inspector to the car, Anderson has a bag over his left shoulder, it's a lot bigger than his normal yellow bag, this one is also dark green, has his name inside it, along with Hank, Tank, Fishy, some colouring in books, socks, a set of slippers that he doesn't like, his pajamas, three pairs, infact, a new set of crayons and some reading books. He still doesn't want to go, even if Greg did promise him ice cream after.  
As he lifts Anderson's bag into the car, Greg starts to feel bad for the poor guy, he knows that Anderson doesn't want to go, but he also knows that it's better if he does than if he doesn't. He made sure Anderson hadn't forgotten everything, he has to go back inside and pick up a water bottle and another pair of socks, some under wear and some clothes to come home in, and put those in the car as well, Anderson climbs into the front and Greg helps him with the seat belt because his fingers didn't feel like working today, he was to sleepy.  
The drive to the hospital was boring for Anderson, he was to awake to sleep, but to asleep to be comfortable. He rested his head against the window tiredly and watched the world as it flew by. For Greg, the trip was a bit sad, because he knew Anderson hated it, but at least Greg knew he would be okay physically. Anderson still protested as they drove up, mumbling his complaints to grge about how he really didn't want to as they pulled into a parking space, Anderson tried to protest by not getting out of the car, but Greg threatened to leave him alone in the car and he quickly followed along behind, even if he really didn't want to.  
As they signed in, and headed to the room they were assigned, Anderson had to put on the hospital gown, which he called 'Hospital dress' and sat sadly on the bed as he hugged Hank tightly to his chest and sighed as they doctor came in to put the thing in his his head, which made him even more unhappy because the thing in his hand felt awkward. Greg gave him a hug, but he didn't feel much better. Hey felt sleepy again as one of the nurses did something to his hand, and he had his frog taken from him as Greg had to say goodbye and he was taken for surgery.

Greg waited for Anderson to come out of surgery in the waiting room, he read some of the old magazines, and ate something from the vending machine. He waited with a long soft sigh as he tried to play one of the games on hos phone he'd gotten for Anderson. When he was finally let in ot go see him, after the surgery, Anderson looked a bit pitiful, and very drained. He'd lost a golf-ball sized patch of hair on the left bottom of his head, and he was sleeping peacefully. Greg placed Hank and Tank on the bed with him. Anderson woke up a while later, he was tired and his head hurt. But greg was there, holding his hand that didn't feel funny, and he had Hank and Tank next to him on the bed. He tried to say something sleepily, but Greg just shushed him gently, and told him to rest.

Anderson was allowed home three days later, and when he arrived, Greg had to go to a crime scene to make up for someone else's absence, so he called over Sally when Anderson's normal babysitter couldn't make it, she was more than happy to come watch him. She brought Anderson a small stuffed fish, and was a little disappointed to hear that he'd mostly just be asleep, but either way she went up to sit with him and sighed softly as she was the dinosaur themed roomed Anderson slept in, his sheets had dinosaurs, his duvet had dinosaurs, the whole room was dino themed. Greg woke Anderson up to say good bye, and to explain Sally was here not him. He's not sure how much got through Anderson's sleepiness, but he nodded and rolled over so he must have understood a little bit of it.

A/N Well this is really late, my apologies, next chapter is a Sally chapter! So hope you're all looking forward to it.


	6. It's shorter on paper

Sally wasn't sure what she was expecting to happen as she agreed to look after Anderson, but whatever she'd been expecting, this was not it, Anderson had hardly stirred in her entire three hours she'd been here watching him. He'd just been lying there in bed sleeping off his surgery, not that that was a bad thing, but at the same time, she still wished he'd pay her some attention. But still he was asleep, and she was a little bored. She ended up playing with Anderson's modeling clay, she made a small set of birds, a tree, a house, a little person and a cat.

As Anderson awoke, the only thing he noticed was the lack of Greg. He slowly got out of ben, and walked dizzily towards the stairs, and he called softly, "Greg?" Sally emerged from the kitchen, and rushed up the stairs to take him back to bed though he tried to put up a fight at first, he let himself be led, and back under the painfully blue sheets, and he was almost back to sleep very soon. Sally sighed softly, and rubbed his arm. Anderson made a little unhappy noise and shifted. She sighed softly, and let him rest, and she went to get a book, and sat on the rocking chair in the room.

The case in itself is was pretty dull, Lestrade thinks, as he rocks up to the scene, an average homicide, he was told, so he didn't bother with calling Sherlock. As he went into the building, it was like something else, the walls were covered in code, it started in black texta, and then it ended in scratches, the type made with fingernails. He's nearly sick when he sees the victim,

a fifteen year old girl.

Her arms are covered in the tiny numbers and letters and symbols, she has them on her legs and her face, and some had been scratched over the tops of the old ones. It shook him to the core, and he's not one hundred percent sure why, because he sees things like this every day it's his job to see these things, and then he slowly figures out why.

Anderson has scars that looked similar on his left arm.

Anderson wanted Greg to come home now. It wasn't that he didn't like Sally, but she wasn't Greg. He watched the TV with her for a bit, they watched cartoon, Scooby Doo. Anderson liked Scooby Doo. He laughed at some of the chase scenes, he didn't understand some of the jokes, but he liked Scooby. Maybe if he asked Greg nicely they could have a dog, which makes him think about the types of dogs they have, and then he wonders if they have different types in France, so he adds it to his list of things to learn in French,

'Chicken Dinosaurs,

Can I try your fried rice,

What types of dogs do you have?'

He thinks his list is coming along rather well, to be honest. He asks Sally to write it down for him. She does, and it doesn't look as long on paper as it did in his head, but oh well it was a work in progress after all.

He gets tired soon, and tilts onto Sally's lap, her lap isn't like Greg's lap. He's happy enough, but Sally's not Greg. He wants Greg to come back now.

Greg went to work, and gathered what he could on the crime scene, and he only turned his back for a moment, before an deep blackness hit him, and he was trapped in it.

Sally was the one who ended up receiving a phone call from a very worried Dimmock, he'd just gotten a phone call, and the crime scene Greg had been at was empty, no body, no writing, no Greg.

She doesn't want to tell Anderson that his beloved Greg won't be home tonight, possibly not ever, but she takes a breath and calls him into the main room, from where he'd been sleeping on the couch. She sits him at the table, and takes a deep breath, "Greg won't be home tonight, Gillian, I'll be staying." She's never seen the look of sheer heart break in Anderson's like that, she never wants to see it again. Anderson asks if he can sleep in Greg's bed. She nods, and Anderson scurried upstairs as fast as his dizzy head would allow him to.

Anderson curled under the sheets of Greg's bed, tears streaming down his face as he hugged Greg's pillow close to him, he didn't understand, where was Greg? Why couldn't he come home? Didn't Greg love him anymore? A tall man with an umbrella also came over and spoke with Sally, he doesn't care, because he wasn't Greg.

He just wanted Greg, no one else, just Greg, it had been just him and Greg, not him Greg and Sally, it must be Sally's fault, he thinks, but he knows it's not true, so he stops blaming her, he still just wants Greg to come home, and they could have icing buns and then he would watch Greg's rugby game that he doesn't understand, but it makes Greg happy, and he doesn't want go to bed, so he hangs around to try and understand the show.

He fell asleep late, he was thinking about Greg as he fell asleep, he curled around the pillow he'd been hugging, pressing his face into the soft pillow, and he his crying slowly stopped, and he turned his face sideways for fresh air. He just wanted Greg to come home.

Sally wants Anderson to feel okay, and that even though they have no idea what's happened, they'll be okay, but she feels it would be unwelcome. She feels unwelcome.

A/N _ Hi guys look I'm updating days apart! Reviews are lovely, and thanks for actually reading this far into the fic. _


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